


I’m not giving up my shot.

by Jayenator565, Luxi_Storyteller



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke can't uber, F/F, Fluff, Fluffy, Jay didn't let me write smut, Lexa drives and Uber, Omg where were they gonna do the smut?, On the Jefferson monument?, They can do smut some other time, they are cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7334395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayenator565/pseuds/Jayenator565, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxi_Storyteller/pseuds/Luxi_Storyteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa has a certain structure, a pace to her life. During the week she works, on weekends she makes some extra money as an Uber driver and every night without fail she and Anya get their workout in by jogging around the DC Monuments. Sure now and then she’ll get the odd fare in her backseat but that doesn’t mean she’s in any way prepared for the assault of striking blue eyes and the golden hair of a goddess that graces her car one lovely morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’m not giving up my shot.

_**~June 26th at 7:36am~** _

“It’s too early.”

“Where the fuck have you been? It’s been like a week that I have tried to get in touch with you, Lexa.”

“Sorry, Tris. I had to chase a girl.”

“Name? Hot? Gay?”

“Clarke. Gorgeous. Bi.”

“Tell me more.”

* * *

 

**_~June 19th at 12:28am~_ **

“You don’t understand, Anya. This girl… she’s just…a goddess,” I have to take a breath. Each foot hits the ground with just enough cushion that my ankles don’t feel like collapsing. The dense stone under each step echos off the walls surrounding the Lincoln Memorial. “First off: I’m still not sure she even understands the concept of Uber,” my hands fly into the air breaking up my running rhythm some,  “and she’s been in my car at least 3 times.”

I drop my hands from flailing, and get back in step. Each step marching in pace together with my once mentor and now friend. The echoes of our sneakers against concrete and marble in the monumental area of DC that serve as our daily reminders of what we fight for in the 9-5 suited hours hidden within the Capital city’s Corinthian columned buildings. 

Our run is later than usual, but training has never been something for us to miss. While a majority of the city slept, we ran under the gaze of the moon surrounded by subtle bugs and the occasional lost tourist. The gentle hum of vehicles traveling the curved roads. 

We jog behind Lincoln’s marble home, passing a different couple making out between almost every column. Anya’s eyes never sway to the where they sit, but I can’t help searching for the blonde until the wrong blonde interrupts my thoughts. 

“Please tell me your weekend gig did not make you fall for a tourist?” she asks me when we reach the first landing between the several sets of stairs. Moving downward through the jabbering jackasses that have no mind of their body or movements that almost send me face first down the stairs. 

I’m irritated she doesn’t get it. Like the girl from today was not the most amazing being to walk this Earth.“You are not helping,” I tell her, but she just laughs at me like this is fucking joke. 

“Since when is it my job to help you?” Eyes straight, making it hard to tell if she is serious or fucking with me. 

Feet on the next set of steps, I continue, “Dude, just listen. It was like this morning when I first got the notification to pick them up. I hadn’t taken a single fare before them.” 

**_~June 18th at 11:28am~_ **

Putting the car into park with the radio playing softly, I wait patiently for the usual ding from my phone. Little known fact that every DC intern should know is that if they want to make good money on the weekends, then the monument walk is the place to be. Which is what has me cruising around the more ritzy hotels waiting for the lazy Americans or clueless tourists to request my car. I know someone is going to pay me to take them down there, and then I can spend the rest of the day carting people between places downtown. 

It’s hard sometimes because people call me from the National Monument just to go to Lincoln. And I don’t mean Lincoln Avenue in Virginia or Lincoln Park. No, I’m talking about the Lincoln Memorial. It’s an almost completely straight walk that honestly should take under 10 minutes. 

> “Get to the fucking point, Lex,” Anya huffs. Her strides wider than mine making me have to work harder to keep up with her. 

The notification comes up on the phone. The fare is just around the corner and after hitting accept, a photo of a dark haired girl comes up. The rating is a 4.8 and I wonder who she pissed off. But I guess complaining or wondering about my fare’s rating shouldn’t be my priority when it’s people like her that keep me financially secure, and to be fair it was kinda raining. Just a tiny bit, but maybe she’s like allergic to rain. 

Some ambiguous station on my car radio is belting out the tones of some guy rambling about something to do with other languages and hitting on girls. Just the usual pop station that my riders hopefully wouldn’t find too annoying  as to give me anything less than the 5 stars I always deserve. This isn’t me being arrogant it’s simply a fact. But 4.8 might mess that up.

> “I don’t give a  _ fuck _ about you stars! Get to the point before we run out of stairs or I’m pushing you off the fucking top ledge.”
> 
> “I’m fucking trying!” I argue. Under my breath, I try to find my place again, “Geez!”

The traffic in the other direction is to put it plainly, as if a snail was taking a trip on the back of a turtle who probably only had like two legs. It was going to be hell getting back to the DC area from Virginia. Rounding the corner I pull up to a whole bunch of nothing. No people looking for a car, no people are even on the sidewalk, it’s just the back of what I assume is the rider’s apartment building. Pulling into the garage I send off a message through the app to let them know I’ve arrived and I wait. 

And wait.

And wait some more.

Six minutes pass and I am seriously considering leaving the rider and marking them as a no show when suddenly my car door is pulled open and I almost jump from my seat.

The brunette is easily recognizable from the picture on my cell phone but the blonde next to her...that was a surprise. Her golden tresses entranced me like an early explorer seeking the promise of a wealthy new world. A gold though… Not like bleach blonde, but like-”

> “She was blonde. Got it. Move on now.”
> 
> “She’s not just blonde!” and I stop at the base of Lincoln looking up at him. Wondering if he had to deal with annoying friends in his life or if this punishment is reserved for wrongdoings in a previous life. 

Her hair hung loose in a messy side ponytail, stray tendrils trailing along her cheeks. The top of her head covered in a camo hat that looked worn and comfortable. She just looked… comfortable, except for the huge camera hanging from her neck that screamed tourist. 

When she finally looked up after sliding all the way across the backseat, I saw her pale crystal eyes looking into the mirror. Scanning over my face with a slight nervous smile playing across her lips. I couldn’t hold her eyes for long though. 

“Move your ass, bitch,” the other girl said. A black backpack flew across the seat and settled with an awkward thunk against the angel. The brunette slid in next to her, and I glanced at the phone on my dash. “Raven” the app read, and looking back I sized her up as a native. Or at least her university shirt and ripped jeans had me come to the conclusion that she was in fact a student within the DC area, but the lack of innocence that this city washes away from us at early ages was gone and a hard edge of ‘fuck off’ rolled off her as easily as the waves caressing the eastern shore. Her lack of camera and I don’t give a shit attitude seemed to fit DC well too.  

Not bothering to turn, I ask her, “You’re Raven, right?”

“Yes, and we are heading for...Uh…” Her dark eyes turned to the blonde that was bouncing in her seat. Her hands tight around a folded slip of tattered paper. Like the girl made plans or something. 

“The National Museum… wait! Natural History Museum,” she corrects. Pausing for only a moment before she says, “and we are so sorry for the wait. We just got a bit lost for a minute.”  _ More like six _ , but I can’t lie, I would have waited twenty for  _ this _ goddess of a girl. I glance back once more just to look at her beauty before shifting from park to drive. 

> “Say something like beauty or goddess one more time, bitch. One. More. Time.”

“Yeah, we were just on the complete opposite side of the building somehow. Me and Google maps have a very strained relationship,” the blonde explains further, the sincerity in her raspy voice different from most I hear. An ownership of all things, like she would bear the weight of anything assigned to her. 

Her friend cuts in again, “You and all systems of information have the type of strained relationship that could fuck up Thanksgiving dinner by forgetting to turn on the oven to the turkey and burning the water for the potatoes, and I don’t mean the pan, somehow the water was on fire.” Turning to me, Raven states, “The girl cannot plan.”

I want to comment but my mind is still wrapping around the fact that she apparently burnt water...

The mirror shows a pouted pink lower lip, with smiling eyes looking at me as she starts to argue with a little more volume, “I plan! I plan just fine just half of the time… I just-”

“Most of the time you...” the Raven tries to cut in, but is inturn cut off by-

“...most of the time the planning turns into me wandering the streets for hours at a time unable to find the ‘intended’ destination as Siri likes to say.” Raven scoffs but the girl just continues, “The destination is just a part of it anyway Raven, the real joy in life is enjoying the journey.”

> “So she has no life goals. You picked a real winner there.”

“I am not having any of your stopping to smell the daisies bullshit right now, Griffin.” I seriously get excited because beauty… wait… the blonde has a name. A last name, but it’s a name. 

I try to reign in my amusement at their banter and focus on the road in front of me. The drivers nowadays are fucking crazy. I saw a girl one time almost take out an old lady at a parking booth because they drove onto the actual curb. This blonde chick in a red jeep that I swear was twelve and her two just as shocked companions looked like one was going to shit herself and the other may strangle the driver for startling her and almost killing them. 

> “How do you even drive onto the ACTUAL curb. It’s there for a fucking reason.”
> 
> “I know, right?”

This was the first time I actually hoped for traffic with a fare. Clearly though, I must atone for many the wrong doings of my prior lives because the slug travelling on a turtle traffic had somehow disappeared. Before I know it, we’ve arrived at their destination and both girls shoot me a simple “Thanks for the ride.” As they depart.

Griffin in tight short jeans, and fuck her legs… but she was wearing combat boots. In summer.  _ Who does that?  _

**_~June 19th at 12:36 am~_ **

We round the Needle like building just as more rumbles of thunder announce an incoming storm. Our pace quickens to finish our run before it hits. The final destination just following the absurdly useless and long path to the Jefferson Memorial. 

“How did you manage to fall for her from just that? It sounds like you hardly interacted with either of them besides a ‘hi’ and ‘bye’.”

I try not to look at her as I confess, “Well… I may have just picked them up most of the later half of my day.”

“Fucking stalker. And they think you’ll be the first woman president. We will call you President Perv instead of President Heda.”

**_~June 18th at 4:15 pm~_ **

It’s a few hours and I’ve moved around about 6 different people from monuments to the White House to Starbucks and back. The loudest being two girls overly excited for overpriced coffee and making endless snapchats in the backseat. 

> “So the usual, can we get back to the explanation of your ridiculously fast catching of the feelings?”
> 
> The breath falls from my lungs, “As I was saying.”

It was a few hours before I saw them again and at the time I was quite unaware it was even them. I saw the notification for a fare under the name of Clarke. They must have been new to the whole Uber service because she still had a perfect rider 5.0 rating and there was no profile picture.

> “I swear to god if you go back to the damn ratings-”

Being only 3 minutes away, I readily accepted the fare and made my way in the now pouring rain to the National Archive building. Imagine my shock when I pull up to see the same two faces staring astonished back at me. 

> “Imagine your shock? Are you a fucking 19th century novelist or a fucking Congresswoman to be?”
> 
> Grumbling I answer, “Mockery is not a product of a strong mind.”

I nearly drove past them in my surprise. 

She smiled as I pulled over and saved them from their inevitable death at the sky’s rebellion against the summer sun. The blondes’ hair hanging limp, the top half of her army green canvas jacket completely drenched. Her face glistened, while drops of water fell from the bill of her hat. 

Her eyes still sparkle though as she focuses on me. Makeup preserved thanks to her hat, but the rest of her looks wet and the way her arms curl inwards has me reach over and turn the AC fans lower so than it is not blowing cold air on her. “Nice to see you again…” the blonde or Clarke, pauses to looks at her phone before she says, “Alexandria.” My name on her lips was worth the extra syllables. 

Her smile and the shine in her eyes disarms me as much as it did the first time I laid eyes on her. I swallow the lump suddenly in my throat and offer, “Actually, I prefer Lexa.”

“And I prefer third wheel,” Raven interjects followed by a hard push from her companion that was still making her way into the far side of the car. Clarke’s head disappearing from view as it knocks against the window and Raven’s hand touches her ass. 

I fight the growl that I feel rumbling in my chest, as I turn fully around to see them both. Raven has a cocky smile and there is a hint of something there, but I don’t know her so I can’t read her quite well yet. 

> “And… back to the point.”

“To the Library of Congress,” I ask, just to check.

Clarke nods eagerly, and Raven rolls her eyes. Blue eyes fall from me to where she fishes out a piece of notebook paper from her pocket and unfolds it. The page not crisp or fully white, but looked as though it had seen many a better days. Like she had been carrying this list for awhile.

I want to ask them for their stories. I’m just not sure how to. I search for a way to ask but I am stuck. Turning around I try to come up with a conversation starter. Focused on the fact that we are not moving. I can’t even pull away from the damn curb with the traffic backup. 

I can hear her though. Her deeper voice, with an accent from the west. The short breathy accent that makes the words stand as though there is a period after each one but the last that lingers on the tongue. “It closes at five, shit. I’m sorry that took so long, but I only have today.”

I chew on this information. That this is Clarke’s only day to see the Library of Congress that closes at five. I glance at the clock realizing if traffic doesn’t move, she won’t make it, and hear Raven in the backseat not even acknowledge the  statement. Instead, the other girl breaks out into singing and it’s only then that I notice the headphones around her neck, “It’s a hard knock life for us.”

> “She started singing  _ Annie?  _ Of all the music in all the history of the world. _..” _

I had to turn because she kept going. Like the one line wasn’t enough, she went into the full verse and Clarke joined her momentarily forgetting the pressing deadline. I mean what am I supposed to do. I love musicals. So I sat there and listened to their singalong wishing I could be their friend just so I can have broadway and musical loving friends who can appreciate the finer points of our culture. 

> “You’re a fucking freak,” and I raise my eyebrows at Anya just to let my musical freak flag fly at full mast. 

They continued belting out the song all through the ride and the uphill traffic.

“Instead of treated,” Raven sang into her fist mic.

“We get tricked!” Clarke finished with a dramatic pose that looked a little like a dap or a sobbing woman on stage.

“Instead of kisses,” Raven proceeded, turned to the girl. 

“WE GET KICKED!” Clarke practically yells. Her joy-filled vocals are accompanied by closed eyes and a full shimmy that has her drenched t-shirt clinging to the ample flesh hiding below the see through black material. The lace outlines visible as she shook. 

The car next to me moved. I looked across in wonder and bemusement before I finally catch a break and pull off the curb finally at the green light. The clock said I had eleven minutes to get them to their destination, but GPS said it would take seven and the traffic before me told me twenty. I was officially in badass road warrior mode trying to switch lanes in an attempt to get ahead even a little bit faster. 

> “They probably gave you zero stars, huh?”
> 
> “FUCK OFF!”
> 
> “Oh shit! You lost five stars!” 

We didn’t make it. I dropped them off two minutes before five, but apparently it was too late. I could already see the large green signs outside reading “Entrance Closed.” I couldn’t do anything to make it better, and in her eyes I saw her disappointment. Fuck, I mean... I could feel it, like in my soul.

She still smiled though. No, shine in her eyes. That was gone now. Just a disappointed grimace. I let her down. Now I have to carry that with me. Her one chance. Her one day. And I fucked it up. 

**_~June 19th at 12:54am~_ **

Anya’s hand is holding my arm. She stops me just as we get to the lake separating Jefferson’s Memorial from the rest of the monuments. Her eyes are more concerned this time, “Take a deep breath, Casanova.”

“The sadness was practically pouring off her like the sweat coming from her pores.”

Her head turns from me to the water, and I wonder if she’ll ever tell me about the girl that broke her for all others. Her voice steady but still heavy “I have no words for you right now.”

“You weren’t there. Think about a kicked puppy, now dump that puppy into the rain and watch it hobble homeless into the abyss, hope lost forever.”

She raises an eyebrow at me, “Over the library? You are the most dramatic hoe, I swear.” Shaking her head, she pushes me a little some. 

The water soothes me some, and I think about the spotted paper in Clarke’s hand that she pulled out when her feet hit the curb. The way she looked up at the building and back to the list. As though if she wished hard enough on the page time would turn back just for her. 

“You said three times,” Anya pokes me in the side. Her body turning to jog backwards as I take a few fast steps to catch up to her. When she sees me coming, she turns with a laugh and lengthens her stride to push me harder. Just like always. 

**_~June 18th at 4:29 pm~_ **

Not fifteen minutes after letting her down, Clarke’s name comes across as a fare and I practically knocked the phone into the passenger’s seat of my car. I managed to accept it though before someone else did. I took a moment to regain my composure but got my car in motion, remembering how sad the girl was at missing the library. I didn't want to be the cause of that again.

They were on the wrong side of the road though. Raven’s hand smacking Clarke as she laughed at the girl whose capped head was tilted towards the crying sky with her arms out. She acted like this was the first time she had ever been in the rain before.

“Lexa, our personal uber driver!” Raven calls out. 

I watched far more amused and worried than I should have been as the rain proceeded to once again drench their outer jackets and they attempted to find an opening to  sprint across the DC street to get to me. I rolled my eyes, signaled for them to wait as I U-turned and inwardly cursed myself for not keeping towels in the trunk, maybe next time Clarke called in a fare I could-

> “You were not seriously considering keeping a towel in your car for, not only the odd chance you ever picked up this girl again but the even odder chance that she happened to be soaking wet in the rain when and if you did.” Anya levels the most unimpressed glare at me, but then she’s not wrong and I sheepishly bring my hand up to rub the back of my neck
> 
> “It’s not the worst idea I’ve had…” I defend weakly, my face heating a little. Thankfully she has mercy and acquiesces.  
> 
> “...You do have a point there.”

Pulling up beside them in front of the Supreme Court building I watched as Raven opened the door allowing Clarke to slide in before plopping herself down on the seat.

“Hey there stranger.” She says with a warm husk of affection that I swear I did not imagine could make me any  we..et-ehem.

> “Uh huh.”

Before I can stutter out some kind of response thankfully, or not, Raven jumps in, “Just two stops left, then the monuments, Griff! We are awesome, this is the kind of shit that would take most people at least another two days.”

Clarke takes the paper out of her pocket again and I pull off from the curb silently agreeing with Raven’s words. It’s true, most people would take a good five or so days to go from place to place like this but clearly those people weren’t nearly as driven or determined as Clarke Griffin.   

Realizing it was too late for them to make any kind of White House tour, I drove a bit slower, a little more carefully on the wet roads allowing the girls a short break. I had noticed a slight of a limp in the brunette and figured they could use the time if they really planned on seeing all the monuments as well in one go. Plus I couldn’t disappoint her if there wasn’t a deadline to keep.  

“Was there a particular reason you both decided to brave the storm clouds and walk without an umbrella today?” I was curious, at first thinking maybe they didn’t deem the downpour enough to warrant an umbrella but now it was just painfully obvious neither of them seemed to own one.

“Hey, I got a hoodie.” Raven supplied, as if that was a good enough explanation. It seemed to be in her head anyway. Even the soaked beauty next to her shook her head.

“As someone from Arizona where the water is scarce and sun is a constant commodity I welcome this fantastic change of pace.” I needed to watch the road but I wanted to see her speak. “Is it always like this?” she asks. 

I don’t get to answer though. Nope, because Raven cuts me off. “Yep!”

Clarke watches out the window, and I hear her say, “I may have to get Aden to move.” I want to know who Aden is but she changes the subject back to the rain. “I mean how can you all hide under umbrellas? In Arizona is rains only like 2 inches a year and its buildings and concrete and gravel and rocks. The green reserved for the wealthy in ritz areas, everywhere else is just hot. Yesterday was supposed to be 125 degrees.” 

She’s quiet for a moment. Then she says quite brightly, “Fuck, I love the rain.”

I smile brightly at that, not quite matching her own happiness as she marvels at the drops pelting her window. It suddenly makes sense the way she was embracing the rain with her arms outstretched earlier rather than shirking away to find shelter as Raven and well, most sane people were.

Like the rest of our trips, except maybe the most pressing one, we end up at their location in no time at all. Their bodies hopping out of the backseat before I can say something more than, “Please be safe.”

Clarke laughs though. Before closing though door, she states, “Safety is for the timid and I am determined to live. I’m tired of just surviving.”

**_~June 19th at 1:04am~_ **

A loud voice echoes down from the top of the Jefferson monument and has us both stopping before the next set of steps. Eyes locked at the top of the monument, there is no movement. Just song, “And when push comes to shoooveee, I will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love!”

Moonlight glinting off of Anya’s eyes casts haunting shadows under her eyes, almost like a prophecy of doom or a coming apocalypse. Her lips tight as she reaches in the waistband of her spandex pant, “Whaaa the fuck…”

My hand is in my tight pocket of my too tight capris almost immediately withdrawing my knife. The silver blade shines in the dim light, and when I look at Anya I expect her to also have a blade or at least pepper spray. Instead, she has her phone up like she is about to take a video. Tilting my head, I dare ask, “What are you gonna do, flash the danger?”

“Hey, I have been up to too much shit this week to deal with any potentially dangerous drunk people. This is all you.”

“So you’re going to what… record me murdering someone singing Hamilton?” It’s a baited line that I add in, just trying to catch her. 

Eyes still at the top, she is holding up phone as the confession falls too easily, “Yup.”

I drop my knife to my side and poke my finger into her shoulder hard enough to shift her backwards some. “I knew you fucking listened to it!”

“How else would I know about the bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman-”Her voice is annoying so I punch her with my non-dominant hand, effectively cutting off the reenactment of the musical I have still yet to see thanks to ridiculous ticket prices. 

“Dude!” Anya is more than ready to throw down but I’m already on my way to the top of the stairs. Taking two at a time, I reach the top before she can lash out. I pause when I see the body lying motionless on the ground at the base of Jefferson’s feet. 

Locks of blonde tresses reflect in the yellow lights off the white marble. The familiar army green jacket half under the collapsed form. The motionless almost dead form of the  girl from the backseat of my Uber licensed Escalade. The one that I missed my chance with.

**_~June 18th at 5:04 pm~_ **

The rain was coming down in droves now and I was seriously considering calling it a night except I was worried. Clarke and Raven hadn’t requested a ride since the White house and now lightning was forking a path across the sky. I mean, the ambiguity that was DC weather could be disastrous. One minute it’s little pitter patter lazy drops of rain but the moment someone needs to get outside it’s like the fucking rainpocalypse...and I distinctly remembered Clarke’s complete lack of an umbrella.

I circled around Constitution and Pennsylvania Avenue a few times since I dropped them off practically outside the White house and I remembered Clarke looking down at that beat up list in her pocket and muttering something about Obama so I figured it was worth a shot. And it was. Before I knew it her fare had turned up on my app again and I nearly bent back my finger with the force and speed I took to press accept. I felt, in a word, elated. This was my chance to right the wrong that had been done. To make up for the craptastic horde of cars that blocked me from delivering Clarke to the Library of Congress on time.

As though we were looking at needing another arc to ride out the great flood of DC, water poured from sky. Cars moved slower and slower, but I cut every person off possible. I practically ran over a group of greying pedestrians in U.S.A. t-shirts with cameras that looked like Clarke’s. 

I was headed to the Starbucks that they said they were coming from. Only two blocks away. Only two lights away from getting another chance. I thought it was a sign when the rain ceased and the clouds opened. The rays of gold that would make Clarke sparkle when I saw her had to be a sign that this was right. This was my chance. 

It wasn’t though. 

My phone alert dinged. 

“Canceled” flashed on the screen. 

One last shot gone. 

Clarke Griffin.

_ **~June 19th at 1:05 am~** _

_ I’m not going to miss my shot…  _

Her almost dead form is startling but the air is knocked back into me as her rasping voice calls out, “You don’t understand! I don’t uber! The uber and the me just are not compatible!”

Another familiar voice is singing but I can’t see Raven anywhere. I recognize the same tune the girl had hummed a little earlier albeit it sounded like it was sung with the very reserves of her energy, “Da da da dat da dat da da da da ya da, da da dat dat da ta da! Da da da dat da dat da da da da ya da, da da dat dat da.”

Clarke’s voice is louder though. Her words a little slurred as she yells, “Are you even listening to me, fucker?!”

Anya looks at me and then her eyes continue to scan for the singer that could only be Raven. The warm joyous voice calling out, “You say our love is draining and you can’t go ooonnnnn.”

Clarke clearly is over Raven’s antics though. Her voice echoing off the polished marble. “PAY THE FUCK ATTENTION, BIATCH!” Her head turns side to side and I see the paper still in her hand. More worn. More wrinkled than the last time. 

“YOU’LL BE THE ONE COMPLAINING WHEN I’M GOOOONNEEEE!”

“RAVEN, WHAT IF I NEVER SEE HER AGAIN?!” Clarke cries out. I try not to hope but she is talking about Uber and a girl she may never see again, and for fucks sake I hope it’s me. 

“AND  **NO** DON’T CHANGE THE SUBJECT!” I still can’t see Raven. I wonder if she is listening to the actual song or just filling in the perfect lines to align with Clarke trying to get her attention. 

Clarke groans, before she chokes some as she yells, “ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUSly singing Hamilton? AGAIN?!?” 

“CUZ YOU’RE MY FAVORITE SUBJECT!”

“Oh my GOD! I FUCKING HATE YOUR ASS!” Her arms fly up but fall back to the cool ground. We are about four yards from where Clarke lays. 

“MY SWEET, SUBMISSIVE SUBJECT!...my ass is perfect by the way.” 

Anya glances at me, and I catch her eye. Her eyes that widen as she realizes, “That’s the girl?”

“Girl is too little a word to even begin to describe-” Seeing the murderous glare from Anya I weigh my options and deciding not to continue. Turning back at a sudden movement, I’m grateful to see Clarke sitting up. 

Quietly and carefully I approach where she sits, but I pause when she starts undoing the ties of her boots. Her hands yank at the leather. Her sweaty foot odor held in the thick air, but that doesn’t seem to sober her much. Her boot coming off her foot only to leave her hands a moment later as she tosses it at the statue. The awkward object flies to the right, missing the statue completely by a good ten feet.

_ I wonder if she is drunk.  _

Her arm rises swiftly when the shoe misses Jefferson and a single finger points up at the statue. It shakes a little and she waivers some as she yells up at the metal founding father, “FUCK. THIS. SHIT. Fuck you, Jefferson, you arrogant little-dicked prick! Why do you have to be FUCKING ISOLATED from the other MONUMENTAL structures in this FUCKING AREA! YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN FUCKING FRANCE! Seriously had to put a fucking OCEAN between you and the other monuments, you cock sucker! YOU WEREN’T EVEN THE FIRST FUCKING PRESIDENT! WHAT IS YOUR POINT?!”

Raven calls over, “EVEN ADAMS BEAT YOU, DICK! AND ADAMS IS A FUCKING BED SHITTER!”

A soft whisper comes from beside me, “I think I will marry that girl.” Anya’s eyes are locked on the brunette awkwardly walking towards her friend from a walled in, hidden area, phone and charger in hand.

Raven’s smile is wide as she declares, “Well lucky us, if it isn’t our favorite uber driver, Lexa!”

I smile a little. Trying to put away my knife so I don’t look like I am creeping up behind Clarke to slit her throat or something. But the blonde’s head snaps back and she takes me in. Her eyes on my face, my body and then my knife. Eyes that grow comic size as she considers the predicament. 

Anya snaps a photo then. Her laughter breaking up the silence as she turns to Raven. “Has blondie been going on non-stop about Lexi? Or am I the only mortal being subjected to this cruel cruel punishment of ‘I may never see her again’ or ‘she’s an angel’ or ‘I memorized every detail of her face.’”

All warmth and blood leaves my face. My eyes honing in on the woman I thought to be my friend but really is just the Burr to my Hamilton. A wolf in sheep’s clothes sent to ruin me. “I hate you,” I growl before I consider that to be just as much a confession. Because if it wasn’t true I would have no reason to hate her. 

Turning to Clarke, I try to fix it. But her eyes are exhausted. Dark circles under each and she holds her feet like they are seriously hurting her. Opening my mouth, I start to speak but nothing comes out. What does someone tell the girl of her dreams when she knows nothing about said girl?

Well this fool does nothing but stand opened mouthed, awaiting to choke on a bug. This fool does nothing but stare at said tired girl that doesn’t even move from the ground. No, this girl leaves all the talking up to the girl of her dreams. 

“I don’t know how to uber,” she says. 

A hand lands hard across my back and I cough out the stagnant air that had filled my lungs. Choking some, I answer, “You did quite well today.”

“I canceled the last call because I wanted to walk,” she says. “I knew it was you, but I wanted to walk. I didn’t think Jefferson was going to be the death of me.”

Folding my knife, I clip it back to the inside of my pants and then move towards her again. “I tried to get there faster. I’m sorry about the library.” I don’t know how to show her how sorry I am. All I can do is hope she can see it in my eyes. 

She holds up the paper. Her eyes scanning over it again, before she said, “My father died.”

I am not sure where this is going and I want to give her my condolences, but she keeps talking. She’s talking and I can’t tear my eyes from hers as tears slide down her cheeks. “He died, and we were supposed to go to DC. We talked about it a long time ago and we made this list of things we were going to do. He carried it in his wallet. I wrote it when I was like twelve and we never made the trip and he died.” 

I close my arms around her, hoping that she doesn’t lose it over me touching her. I can’t help it though. She is crying and I need to hold her. I need to make her know that she is safe, even in her grief. 

“I don’t have much time. I have to go back…” Her body quakes as she tells me about her brother. She tells me about Aden and how much he needs her. About how she is going to be his guardian but she wanted to complete what she had planned with her father since her mother apparently drank the wrong kool aid and has lost her damn mind leaving the boy in the care of a fading grandparent while Clarke’s mom is off in lalaland. 

I want to say I understand. I want to tell her about Tris and how I just got her off to college. That I can see her strength and promise her that I know she is capable. She tells me though, “I have two days in NYC and then I go home. I go home to him, but I needed to see it all. I needed to see it for Dad.”

She shows me the list. The list of the places she saw today. Everything crossed off but the library of congress. A small ½ symbol next to it, and I regret not being good enough. I want to make it better and wonder if maybe I can make it happen tomorrow. 

“When do you leave tomorrow?” I ask.

She looks up at me, and answer, “I meet up with my friend Octavia tomorrow. I rented a car. I leave tomorrow morning and pick up O before we drive back to her house in NYC.”

I want to stay in this moment with her. That’s not possible though because Raven and Anya are assholes. There is no moment to stay in because Raven states, “Uber, can you take us back to the hotel or do I have to open the app to order you?”

Rolling my eyes, I tell her, “My car is not to far away.” I take in her sock covered feet. The white socks dingy and look dyed from the leather. “Can you walk?”

Her lower lip pouts out and she holds her un-booted foot. “I can survive.”

I look back at Anya, and realize she is still staring at Raven. I wonder if her declaration from earlier was serious, but then I look back at Clarke. Really the car wasn’t too far from this monument since we knew this would be our stopping point. I look over the woman near me and wonder if I could do it. I mean I’m strong and I read all those fan fics about the warrior woman picking up the princess and carrying her away. I mean, yeah it’s always to bed, but I could carry her to the car. I could… maybe…

I reach under her legs and start to lift, but nope. I definitely can’t lift her and she is smacking me, “Way to make a girl feel fat!”

Releasing her, I try to come up with a comment but my pride is deflated. “I wanted to be super strong for you,” I confess.

Her hand coming up and pressing to my cheek. Her lips to the other cheek, and then just a simple, “Thank you.”

Another voice cuts in and I can’t decide who I hate more Anya or Raven. Both suck and have snark delivery that is always timed perfectly to ruin any chance of the word ‘moment’ I could have with the girl of my dreams. “Well if you’re done trying to be a bad ass, make the princess put her shoe on and live with the blisters she forced on herself by sleeping in until ten today instead of getting up so we could give her more time getting to places.”

Clarke’s hand shoots up and her middle finger is her only response, to which Anya answers quietly, “Well I would rather use two but I can make one work.”

I feel myself becoming even more exasperated at the two before shooting them a middle finger of my own, “Happy now?”

* * *

 

**~June 26th at 7:53am~**

“So you took her to the car and dropped her off, but that was only like one day, Lexa. You have been MIA for longer.”

“Well, I had to go to New York.”

“You drove the girl to New York? That’s one hell of uber fare.”

“Well… I kinda went to rescue her.”

**Author's Note:**

> I took a trip to DC. Jay met up with me and let me drag her everywhere. We had a blast but were very tired after one day. Exhausted after singing Hamilton this is what we came up with. Kudos and comments please if you want to know what happened in NYC.
> 
> Jay: Heck even I don't know what happened in NYC


End file.
